Dark times. Dark atmosphere.
People kept killing themselves. Nothing was fun and colorful there, evil souls were destroying everyone.
If somebody tried to escape, he was locked in a jail and treated in the worst way possible. Girls and men, they both were abused to death.
This so-called "Death town" isn't something you would want to experience. Then there was this one guy...

Meet Bob. Bob is your everyday white-collar office worker. He's pretty ordinary, working from 9 to 5 each day, every day, except on Sundays. He's content with his job and his life, and doesn't have grand aspirations like many of his colleagues do. Bob doesn't have a wife, or kids. All he wishes is for a quiet life to enjoy to himself.

One Monday morning dawned the same as it always has. Bob went through to proceed to make his regular morning cup of coffee, only to notice something was slightly... off. Bob, being a creature of habit, likes his coffee dark, only to find that the coffee ground in front of him was only medium dark. Confused, Bob shrugged it off as mistakenly getting the wrong coffee the other day, and proceeded with his morning ritual.

All was well until he was getting ready to go to work; the moment he stepped into his garage, he noticed his blue Volvo was now, miraculously, green. Obviously, Bob couldn't shake this off as just another small mistake, as his Volvo had always been blue; blue was his favorite color. A pained expression of worry cast itself across Bob's face; was he going insane? What was the explanation for this?

Bob, resigned to his newly-minted green Volvo, slumped into the car seat and turned on the engine. A day at work should get my mind off this madness, Bob thought to himself. The car backed its way out of the driveway, and went puttering along Bob's route to work. Bob's initial relief at leaving his slightly-altered abode turned to extreme panic as he went further down the route; Bob's neighborhood, a pristine upper-middle-class suburb, was suddenly rendered a ghetto. Lanky packs of teenagers with drawn faces roamed about the sidewalks. Some just sat in place and stared at Bob as he went about his way. The local Country Club, once teeming with the gentile and privileged, was now run-down and abandoned, and looked to have been so for years. The local bakery, once fresh with the aroma of breads and pastries, was now a convenience store, fresh with the aroma of cigarette smoke.

He couldn't take it anymore. Bob pulled over at the nearest gas station and rushed into the men's room to collect himself. He stood over the sink, panting, for what seemed like hours. He was going insane, there was no doubt about it. As despair was creeping in, a young man, no older than 20, with dark-gray hair, leisurely waltzed into the bathroom.

Bob collected himself for a moment. He was hesitant to allow anyone to see him in this state, but he mustered up what courage he had left and turned to face the young man.

"I'm fine," Bob replied.

The young man raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? I daresay you seem to be doing otherwise,"

Before Bob had any time to react, the young man brandished an odd, cylindrical-shaped contraption, and shoved it into Bob's chest. Pain swelled where it struck, and within moments, Bob was writhing on the floor with agony.

"ArrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Bob cried out in pain.

The young man, with a serene expression on his face, walked over and knelt down next to Bob. He went to whisper in his ear,

"You think you are safe from us? You have no idea what we are capable of. We could turn your entire world, and everyone in it, upside-down. We could also crush it entirely, if we so wished. Don't underestimate us. You are going to pay for what you did to my brethren."

The young man's whisper turned into an eerie chant,

"Praised be his name...
Praised be his name...
Praised be his name...
Praised be his name..."

The chant slowly devolved into maniacal laughter. It was the last thing Bob heard before he blacked out.

Meet Bob. Bob is your everyday white-collar office worker. He's pretty ordinary, working from 9 to 5 each day, every day, except on Sundays. He's content with his job and his life, and doesn't have grand aspirations like many of his colleagues do. Bob doesn't have a wife, or kids. All he wishes is for a quiet life to enjoy to himself.

One Monday morning dawned the same as it always has. Bob went through to proceed to make his regular morning cup of coffee, only to notice something was slightly... off. Bob, being a creature of habit, likes his coffee dark, only to find that the coffee ground in front of him was only medium dark. Confused, Bob shrugged it off as mistakenly getting the wrong coffee the other day, and proceeded with his morning ritual.

All was well until he was getting ready to go to work; the moment he stepped into his garage, he noticed his blue Volvo was now, miraculously, green. Obviously, Bob couldn't shake this off as just another small mistake, as his Volvo had always been blue; blue was his favorite color. A pained expression of worry cast itself across Bob's face; was he going insane? What was the explanation for this?

Bob, resigned to his newly-minted green Volvo, slumped into the car seat and turned on the engine. A day at work should get my mind off this madness, Bob thought to himself. The car backed its way out of the driveway, and went puttering along Bob's route to work. Bob's initial relief at leaving his slightly-altered abode turned to extreme panic as he went further down the route; Bob's neighborhood, a pristine upper-middle-class suburb, was suddenly rendered a ghetto. Lanky packs of teenagers with drawn faces roamed about the sidewalks. Some just sat in place and stared at Bob as he went about his way. The local Country Club, once teeming with the gentile and privileged, was now run-down and abandoned, and looked to have been so for years. The local bakery, once fresh with the aroma of breads and pastries, was now a convenience store, fresh with the aroma of cigarette smoke.

He couldn't take it anymore. Bob pulled over at the nearest gas station and rushed into the men's room to collect himself. He stood over the sink, panting, for what seemed like hours. He was going insane, there was no doubt about it. As despair was creeping in, a young man, no older than 20, with dark-gray hair, leisurely waltzed into the bathroom.

Bob collected himself for a moment. He was hesitant to allow anyone to see him in this state, but he mustered up what courage he had left and turned to face the young man.

"I'm fine," Bob replied.

The young man raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? I daresay you seem to be doing otherwise,"

Before Bob had any time to react, the young man brandished an odd, cylindrical-shaped contraption, and shoved it into Bob's chest. Pain swelled where it struck, and within moments, Bob was writhing on the floor with agony.

"ArrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Bob cried out in pain.

The young man, with a serene expression on his face, walked over and knelt down next to Bob. He went to whisper in his ear,

"You think you are safe from us? You have no idea what we are capable of. We could turn your entire world, and everyone in it, upside-down. We could also crush it entirely, if we so wished. Don't underestimate us. You are going to pay for what you did to my brethren."

The young man's whisper turned into an eerie chant,

"Praised be his name...
Praised be his name...
Praised be his name...
Praised be his name..."

The chant slowly devolved into maniacal laughter. It was the last thing Bob heard before he blacked out.

Once there was a boy. The boy's name was Dick.
One day, Dick decided to go to his neighbour's house
The 97 years old man welcomed him in his house and started touching him.
But what the old man didn'T know is it was a trap set by the police and Dick was actually a dwarf
The 97 years old man got arrested and sent to jail.
But in the shadow, an older threat was watching Dick